


it's natural to be afraid

by skyward_bloom



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, No Apocalypse, Possibly Unrequited Love, Spies & Secret Agents, Turk Cloud Strife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24388858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyward_bloom/pseuds/skyward_bloom
Summary: Even now, with her trusting him as much as she does, with them working together and meeting up like this, the fact remains that he represents the enemy and everything she’s come to hate. That he never made good on any of his promises because of his own failure and shame. That even when he found out she was in Midgar, he avoided her for years, deciding she wouldn’t want anything to do with him. The only thing bringing them together now is business, he tells himself. A mutual interest. Nothing more than that.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 14
Kudos: 61





	it's natural to be afraid

**Author's Note:**

> before you ask yes sephiroth is dead in this timeline yes zack killed him in a spectacular act of heroism and no i don't have any idea how the turks operate. in my mind hojo is also dead, just because i want him to be. ok thanks pls enjoy!!
> 
> also: title is from explosions in the sky

The first time Cloud’s forced to babysit the rookie, Elena, she tells him he’s “not very nice.”

There are a dozen ways he could respond. They’re on a job, though, and most of his attention is focused on the bar just across the way, its doors closed for the night while lights shine through the bare windows. He doesn’t have time to think up a witty retort or make any kind of speech—not that he’s inclined to those kinds of things in the first place. What he says is, “Ain’t paid to be nice.”

“You sound like Reno,” she says. Even though he isn’t looking at her, he can hear the pout in her voice, the petulant disappointment.

Cloud just grunts. He doesn’t mind Reno, but it’s far from a compliment. Makes him realize, too, that he’s got his hands in his pockets. Also very much a Reno thing. He pulls them out and folds his arms in front of his chest. Suddenly he finds himself wishing he’d worn his tie today.

Then Elena asks, “Hey, aren’t we a little conspicuous out here? I mean.” She lowers her voice. “We kinda stand out in the slums, right?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “We’re not trying to hide.”

“Okay?”

He only tears his gaze away from the building to glance down at his wristwatch. “She should be out in five,” he says, ignoring the unasked question. “Don’t approach her, and don’t try to get her attention. Just follow my lead.”

“I still don’t get how this works,” says Elena. “If she’s supposed to be our—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he cuts in. Anyone could be listening in a place like this. Plenty of spots to hide.

A sigh. “Fine. But why don’t we go talk to her now?”

It’s still indelicate of her, but Cloud lets it slide anyway. “You don’t know how things work in the slums,” he says. “People here look out for each other. They see a couple suits walk into a business after hours, they might start asking questions.” Then he adds, “Besides, Wallace sleeps in the back room.”

“Oh. Gotcha.”

For a long moment after that, Elena says nothing, and a blessed silence washes over them as Cloud eyes the shadows flickering about from the other side of the windows. Barely anyone is out tonight because of the autumnal chill in the air, and the last train’s already come and gone. The few passersby in the area glance at the two Turks suspiciously, but they’re used to Cloud haunting the neighborhood every now and then. They don’t bother with scathing comments anymore. Seeing another of his kind, though, is bound to throw them a bit, to stir up wary rumors. That’s the hope, at least. Intimidation tactics are the name of the game here.

Out of nowhere, Elena pipes up, “Does it just _do_ that?”

He turns to frown at her in confusion. “What?”

“Your hair.” She points to her own head, as if the clarification is necessary. “Does it stick up like that naturally, or do you put something in it?”

He stares at her for a few beats, not answering, then turns away again.

“Okay,” she says, sheepish, “maybe I deserved that.”

They lapse back into silence, until the lights finally shut off in the bar. (Five minutes, his watch tells him. Right on schedule.) Seconds later, the door opens, and out walks Tifa Lockhart.

She meets Cloud’s gaze as she makes her way down the steps at the front of the building, faltering the slightest bit when she looks to Elena before quickly regaining her composure. Much as Cloud hates to admit it, it makes a certain kind of sense that Tseng wanted him to bring Elena along for the job. While the increased presence is meant to put the rest of Avalanche ill at ease, Elena herself is harmless, borderline inept, and the sight of her isn’t likely to scare Tifa off like some of the others might.

Before Cloud can signal to her in any way, Tifa raises a fist and coughs into it. Once. Twice. Translation: _We’re being watched_. As she turns to continue down the street, she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. _I’ll find you later._ That’s all she gives him. The usual place, then.

And sure, maybe Cloud keeps watching her go for a bit longer than he needs to after that. Not in a lecherous way, though; just fixated on the sway and bob of her dark hair as she moves, the way it shines in the dim light of the undercity. All things considered, he spends less time looking than a person might expect.

“God, she must be freezing,” Elena mutters.

“She likes it that way,” he says, continuing to stare even after she disappears around a corner. “Always has.”

“Always?” she echoes. “You two know each other?”

“Used to.” He looks back to the empty bar now, pitches his voice low to ask, “You okay here on your own?”

“What? Why?” There’s surprise in her voice, and just a hint of alarm.

People like her—rich kids, fresh blood, from well-to-do families—are frightened by the slums, by grime and squalor and chaos, the ever-present smells of kicked-up dust and stale cigarettes, and often worse. And maybe she has more reason to be worried than most: She’s a young woman, small in stature, obviously well-dressed, and her working for Shinra wouldn’t even matter to some people, if they were desperate enough. But every job comes with risks, and the ones here are minimal. Cloud’s spent enough time in the area to know it’s safer than most parts of the undercity. Barring the deadly rat infestations, that is.

“Need to get to the rendezvous point ahead of the mark,” he murmurs. “Just give me a call if Wallace shows up.”

“You can’t just—hey!”

He sets off without another word, heading in the direction opposite from where Tifa went. It’s always crucial that he gets there before she does, in case someone sees the two of them heading in the same direction and catches on that he’s following her. Her following him, though—that wouldn’t register as anything worth caring about.

Besides, getting to the abandoned factory ahead of her gives him time to look the place over. Can never be too careful with things like this. The lucky thing about places that have a reputation for being overrun with monsters, though, is that people don’t tend to hang around in them. Once he ducks under a hole in one fence and then jumps another, settling into an empty space devoid of venom-spewing monstrosities, it doesn’t take long for him to verify that he’s very much alone.

He leans back against the fence and waits. The factory’s dark, no stars shining overhead to illuminate the slums at night. There are barely-functioning safety lights along sections of the walls, small and orange and dying, but it’s far from sufficient. Cloud, though—he isn’t afraid of the dark. All the worst things he’s encountered in his life have been visible, knowable. The only thing the impenetrable blackness serves to do is make him homesick for a place where the stars were always clear and bright, where the moon glowed adoringly, and people left porch lights on to guide their wandering loves home. Homesick for a place that doesn’t exist anymore. That’s all.

Eventually, he hears the creak of a metal gate opening slowly. He doesn’t know how long it’s been—a watched pot never boils—but long enough, at least, that he’s a tiny bit grateful when a ragged sheet of metal falls over and Tifa crawls through a hole in the wall.

“Took your time,” he says as she dusts herself off.

“My landlady was still awake,” she says contritely. “I had to sneak out the back and jump from the roof.”

At that, Cloud finds himself straightening. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” In the poor lighting he can barely make out her smile. The sight of it sets off an odd stuttering feeling in his chest. “You know me, I do a mean tuck and roll.”

He relaxes, albeit only slightly. “I know,” he says. “Still, you shouldn’t take risks.”

“And _you_ shouldn’t worry so much.” Then, “Who was your friend?”

“New kid. She’s supposed to scare Barret, I guess.”

She chuckles. “Couldn’t bring the quiet guy who blushes every time I look at him?”

Holding back a scowl, Cloud says, “He wasn’t available. I’ll be sure to let him know you asked about him, though.”

“Uh-huh.” Her lighthearted disposition fades quickly, and she moves to a spot next to him along the fence, slumping back. The metal creaks and bends as she puts her weight against it. “God, I’m not cut out for this.”

“What happened?” he asks.

“They know Shinra suspects something about the bar, so everyone’s been staying behind after hours and taking the back way out. Wedge was still there when I left. Him and Barret watched me leave to make sure you didn’t give me any trouble.”

“They suspect you at all?”

“I don’t think so. If they do, they’re doing a really good job of hiding it.” She shakes her head. “I just don’t know how long I can keep doing this, Cloud.”

“You’re doing great,” he says, because it’s true. “They’re making their move soon, right? You won’t have to keep it up much longer.”

“Yeah, but—” She stops and takes a shuddering breath. “Am I making a mistake?”

“You’re asking me?”

He feels the motion of her shrug in the rattling of the fence. “Who else would I ask?”

“You saw the news, Tifa,” he says. “The reality of the bombing was even worse than that. If you stop them, you’ll be saving lives.”

(He doesn’t think it’s worth bringing up the rumors from higher up about the Reactor 1 incident, the ones saying that maybe it wasn’t entirely Avalanche at fault. At the end of the day, the people who got hurt, who died, who lost their homes—they would’ve been fine if Avalanche hadn’t done anything. He thinks that part matters. Thinks, too, that Barret’s willingness to do it again, despite thinking the blood was on their hands all this time, matters. All this bullshit about a “greater good” doesn’t mean anything to the people sacrificed along the way.)

“Yeah. You’re right,” she says quietly, resignedly. “But they’re my _friends_.”

“Jessie Rasberry was your friend, too,” he says, “and look what happened to her.”

It’s a low blow and he knows it, even before he sees her start to fold in on herself. Privately, he thinks it was a stroke of luck that Rasberry got taken out in Reactor 1. Losing their technician set Avalanche back quite a bit, giving the company time to figure out what to do with them. Giving Tifa time to have a change of heart, too.

“I know,” says Tifa. “I keep telling myself I’m doing this for her. I just wish—” Another ragged breath, then a pause, and he hopes to _god_ she isn’t crying, because he wouldn’t know what to do if she cried. “I wish they’d listen to me, you know?”

“It’s not your fault that they won’t,” he tells her.

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m not trying—”

“Tifa,” he says reprovingly.

“I know,” she says again.

He hesitates, not quite knowing what to do. He’s so limited in the ways he can help her and have it mean anything at all. Even now, with her trusting him as much as she does, with them working together and meeting up like this—even with their shared history, carrying the memory of a town that was buried under rubble years ago—the fact remains that he represents the enemy and everything she’s come to hate. That he never made good on any of his promises because of his own failure and shame. That even when he found out she was in Midgar, he avoided her for years, deciding she wouldn’t want anything to do with him. The only thing bringing them together now is business, he tells himself. A mutual interest. Nothing more than that.

Even with all that in mind, he asks, “Is there anything I can do?”

She laughs wetly, and fuck, she _is_ crying, isn’t she? The realization makes him freeze up. “Take down your company?” she says, sniffling.

There’s a part of her, he knows, that isn’t really joking. He winces. “Anything smaller than that?”

“I don’t know.” More sniffling. “I don’t even know what _I_ can do.” With one hand, she starts wiping at her eyes. “Sorry. I know that crying’s a waste of time.”

“That’s not true,” he replies, brow furrowing.

“Hasn’t done me any good so far.” She brings up her other hand now and presses them both over her eyes for a moment while she breathes in and out. The sound of it is overly loud in the vacant, echoing space. “You must think I’m pathetic,” she says.

“You care about people,” he says. “Nothing pathetic about that.”

“I guess.” One last sniffle, then she rubs her nose with the back of one hand, lowering her arms. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Everything. You’re the only one I can talk to about this.” She turns to look at him, and in this light he can’t even tell she was crying. A tiny, barely there smile pulls at her mouth. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t gone to you.”

“You would’ve figured something out,” he says.

She hums. “I’m not so sure about that.” The smile curls a bit more. “Are you going to hug me or not?”

“I—” There it is, that stuttering again. Cloud gapes stupidly before remembering how to speak. “You really want me to?”

He thinks he sees her expression falter. “You don’t have to. I know you’ve never been very touchy-feely.”

It was his fault she cried before, and it’ll be his fault if she’s upset now. Fighting back his nerves, he angles himself toward her and, after an awkward, hesitant pause, puts a hand on her shoulder. To his surprise, she laughs.

“Cloud Strife,” she chides, “I know you know what a hug i—”

She cuts off abruptly as he pulls her in and wraps his arms around her. Her sharp reflexes have made her put her hands up defensively to brace herself, her body rigid, poised to strike, but then she relaxes. Snakes her own arms up to wind around his neck while her bowed head rests on his shoulder, hair brushing his cheek. Like this, she probably can’t feel the sudden pounding in his chest, but he doesn’t know. Just hopes she doesn’t.

Up close, she doesn’t smell like perfume or soap or floral arrangements, like people always say women do. She has an aura of sweat from a full night’s work, with just a hint of secondhand tobacco clinging to her. And dirt, too, from crawling and tumbling about in the undercity. But none of it matters to him. She wouldn’t be Tifa if she were delicate and soft. Her hands are callused and her skin is riddled with scars from years of labor, years of fighting, and she’s beautiful. Would still be beautiful without her shining eyes, without the curves of her body, without her gentle voice. And whatever Cloud’s doing here in the slums, he’d still be doing it with or without sanction, because she asked him to. Because he—

“Your clothes smell really nice,” she says quietly. “Life’s good up there, huh?”

It’s lonely, he wants to say, and everyone topside is a self-serving prick. Himself included. But you don’t say that kind of shit to people who are struggling to make ends meet. It takes a complete lack of self-awareness to think it’s comparable. What he says is, “It has its upsides.”

“But you’re still a country boy at heart,” she guesses, a grin in her voice.

There’s some truth to that. “Thought I’d like city life more than I do,” he says.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.”

She starts to pull away, and he clumsily lets her, his arms falling away. But one of her hands catches on the arm of his suit jacket, pinching it between her fingers. She could hold him in place easily if she wanted to; that she chooses to clutch at him so gingerly is disarming.

“What’s going to happen after all of this?” she asks, looking into his eyes searchingly. “What will they do with me?”

“Witness protection, maybe, in case the other Avalanche cells wanna try something.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Maybe they could help you move topside, open a bar up there instead. Or—” He already knows this is a stupid thought before he says it, which is why he pauses. “They might wanna hire you. You’ve got the skills.”

Her derisive snort is answer enough. He doesn’t blame her.

“What if I left the city?” she asks. “Think Shinra would allow that?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Probably not.” Then he says, “I’ll talk to some people about moving you up. You’d hate it there, but it’s better than nothing.”

“It is,” she says. “Thank you, Cloud.”

She lets go and smooths her hand over his sleeve. If they were different people in a different situation, maybe he would kiss her. But she smiles at him, and his heart stops again, and nothing happens at all.

She says, “You should wear a tie, you know. You look like you’re trying too hard,” and goes. He leaves dazedly afterward.

Back in front of the bar, Elena’s disappeared. Cloud spends all of two seconds worrying that she really _did_ get abducted, but then he hears a hissing sound from a nearby alley, too loud and too ridiculous to be a cat. He follows the sound and finds Elena crouched behind a trash bin, beckoning frantically.

“Wallace came out and started threatening me,” she whisper-yells. “I tried calling you, but it went straight to voicemail! The hell happened?”

His phone probably died, in all honesty; he doesn’t charge it as often as he should, preferring to be as unreachable as possible. “The situation was complicated,” he says, looking her over critically. “You okay?”

“Apart from having the absolute shit scared out of me by a _huge man_ with a _gun for an arm?_ Yeah, peachy,” she grumbles.

“Nice work,” he says, causing her to lose her scowl and blink up at him with wide eyes. “You stuck around to keep watch instead of running away. That takes guts.”

“Oh,” she says. “Thanks, boss.”

“I’m not—” He huffs out a sigh and combs fingers through his hair agitatedly. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” She all but jumps to her feet, stumbling a bit as she gets her bearings. Reminds him of a kid in a lot of ways. He doesn’t like kids. “Hey, is it true that Rude has a crush on Lockhart? I heard Reno say so.”

Cloud forces himself to unclench his jaw. “Why’s that matter?”

“Just wondering.” Then, “She’s pretty, he’s probably good-looking somewhere under there too. It makes sense.”

And Cloud replies, “She doesn’t date Shinra,” not knowing if it’s even a lie or not.

**Author's Note:**

> would you believe i set out wanting to write them kissing, and then zero kissing happened? disgraceful.
> 
> anyway i hope you enjoyed this, whatever it was!! cloti was probably my first real ship back when i was a tiny child like... 20 years ago, and i never wrote them until the remake came along and punched me directly in the throat. so now i'm trying to make up for that. got a lot of wasted time to answer for u.u
> 
> p.s. don't ask me how barret survived the scorpion sentinel on his own. he was level 50 and just solo'd it with thundaga, idk


End file.
